


Drifting;

by thegaygladers



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, thominho - Freeform, thominho au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegaygladers/pseuds/thegaygladers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon asked: Can you do like a hurt/comfort fic between Minho and Thomas where Thomas has been having anxiety attacks and/or nightmares and he's been hiding it from Minho and then Minho finds out and you know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting;

Thomas woke up sweating, yet feeling utterly cold.

His breathing was conflicted, and tears stained his face - he could feel their sticky texture on his skin in the darkness.

After a few minutes of confused, dry crying, his body relaxed and the monsters in his head vanished. He eventually looked to the other figure in his bed.

The said figure was sleeping peacefully, his back to Thomas, his body the soft movement of his calm, sleepy breathing.

It was amazing how small a guy that brawny looked in his slumber.

Thomas sighed, his throat dry from constant nights of screaming. It had been going on for…

Hell, he didn’t even remember.

He was tired of it, wanted it to go away. It had become an everyday thing - without any exceptions, not one. No matter how happy he was before falling into unconsciousness, there was a one hundred percent chance he would wake up yelling and crying a few hours in.

And every time, it was the same thing. The same name on his lips.

Newt.

It had been three years since Thomas had lost his best friend to Cancer. But still he was haunted every waking minute by the ghastly memory of the blond lying in his hospital bed, begging Thomas to let him go. Newt’s last words had been spoken to him.

“Take care of Minho.”

And Thomas had tried his best to keep his promise. Newt had been in love with Minho for as long as Thomas had known him, and it had been Newt who had introduced Thomas to Minho to begin with.

But with a cruel twist of fate, Minho had fallen for Thomas. And Thomas had lost the fight against his feelings, too, letting Newt down like he always did.

He hated himself for it.

Newt had never said a word about it, taken everything on with seemingly no hurt. But sometimes Thomas caught him staring at Minho with something close to devotion; it was quickly replaced with indifference when he realized Thomas had seen him.

Thomas had tried his best to treat Minho the way Newt would have, but he knew he’d failed when every once in a while he found Minho staring at him with irreplaceable sadness in his eyes.

Minho and Thomas had been happy, once. They had been in love.

But these days, Thomas felt like he was losing the boy with every step he took and every second that passed. He felt them _drifting_.

Thomas stood up to get a glass of water from the small kitchen of their apartment, not really paying much attention to anything else but his destination.

And that was why, when he returned, he jumped at least half his height in shock.

Minho was sitting up, watching him.

Thomas’s gaze dropped, and he wordlessly got into the bed again.

He lay like that for a while, trying his hardest to ignore the boy who refused to look away.

When after a while Thomas realized that Minho wasn’t going to quit, he sat up again.

“What?” Thomas asked, his nerves on end.

Where was this going?

“Is it him?” Minho asked, after a few minutes of silence.

The room seemed to get colder, Minho’s words hung in the thick air between them.

“…Yeah.”

It was quiet once more, the only sound was that of engines starting up and birds chirping, declaring sunrise.

Minho reached out and placed his hands on Thomas’s, looking at the younger boy with some suppressed emotion Thomas couldn’t fathom.

“I still love you, you know.”

Thomas finally met Minho’s eyes, finding only honesty hidden in the depths of them.

Something in his heart seemed to have been mended, using Minho’s words as medicine, a small part of Thomas’s heart didn’t ache anymore.

“I… love… you… t-t-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

And with that Minho cradled Thomas into his arms as if he were a wounded animal - it was quite easy, for Thomas was only skin and bone now.

 “Minho, I…”

“Shhh.”

“I l-l- lo..”

“Shh, Thomas. Don’t speak.”

Minho shook Thomas in his arms gently, singing what sounded like a lullaby under his breath.

-

It could have been hours, for all they knew, that they remained in that position. Whatever the time was, they were both too late to go to work now.

Finally Minho detached his arms from Thomas’s body.

“I love you, too,” Thomas replied quietly to the announcement that had been made hours ago.

“I know.”

Minho smiled then, a smile that crinkled his eyes and covered his face, turned his cheeks red. The very smile that had originally taken Thomas captive.

Thomas got off Minho’s lap, and went on to lay beside him. Minho followed.

They spent another hour watching each other with sleepy, affectionate eyes, small smiles on their lips.

“I really, really, love you,” Minho whispered, “Like the kind of love where you see rivers in the other’s eyes, and stuff.”

“It’s oceans.”

“What’s oceans?”

“You see oceans in the other person’s eyes, idiot, not rivers,” Thomas chuckled quietly. “And me, too.”

A pause.

“Hey, Tom?”

“Hmmm?”

“…”

“What is it, Minho?”

“Marry me.”

-

That day, as Minho and Thomas got into yet another food fight while making lunch, Thomas’s hand shone with a silver band round his ring finger.


End file.
